


meet you at the statue in an hour

by lightninginabottle0613



Series: you and me, sunday driving [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eloping, Established Relationship, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, rated M for brief sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23299495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightninginabottle0613/pseuds/lightninginabottle0613
Summary: She took a second to really think about it, and no. She had not one single regret. She wasn't sure if there was anything in the world that could make her find one, either - not when there'd be a'real ceremony'in two short months. Everyone else could have that one.This was just for them.-(Arya and Gendry learn that their old friend is ordained. The rest is history.)
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: you and me, sunday driving [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1674859
Comments: 53
Kudos: 179





	meet you at the statue in an hour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yanak324](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanak324/gifts).



> i almost called this story 'bullshit,' and that's still what i call it in my head ... you'll see, lol. i maybe had too much fun, but oh well. 
> 
> reading 'took the long road' is not a prerequisite for reading this, but it does take place in the same universe, with some specific references - four years later 🚌
> 
> happy birthday to the beautiful angel and incomparable genius that is [yanak324](https://yanak324.tumblr.com/). i know i'm not the only one in this fandom that is inspired on a daily basis by your mind and your friendship - we are all better for it. thank you for being the perfect sounding board and voice of encouragement, and thank you for being you :')
> 
> (song from title: piazza, new york catcher - belle & sebastian)

There was a time when simply waking up was daunting, in and of itself.

Two things to do, two million things to do, it didn’t matter - always the feeling of weights strapped to her chest, already knowing that just to sit up from her cage of pillows would be a chore. 

She still had mornings like that, now and then - found herself squirming beneath the weights and the smoke and the darkness, all before she had the chance to crack an eye. And it would be a downright lie to say she fought through them perfectly every time.

But, fight she did - tooth and nail. She emerged with scratches - some that faded, some that scarred - but she emerged, all the same. And on the mornings when she didn’t have to fight, she surrendered anyway. To soft sheets, and lazy wind, and a sturdy shoulder.

Arya smiled, eyes still contentedly closed. This was one of those mornings, and thank gods for that - it was supposed to be. She extended her legs from where they’d curled against her chest, felt her joints pop, instinctively reached behind her. The bed was unfamiliar, but this part definitely wasn’t, so all she needed to do was -

Her eyes fluttered open at the feel of the empty, indented space beside her. She frowned - rubbed the sleep from her sockets and sat groggily upright. She was supposed feel at peace, but she certainly wasn’t supposed to be _alone_. That part wasn’t right.

He couldn’t have gone far. His side of the bed was still warm, but the room was quiet, and - well, where the hell was he? She thought their agreement to not leave bed until check-out at noon was clear, but apparently not. Her brow still furrowed, she reluctantly moved to rise, to track down her dumb -

The flip of her stomach at the thought of that new word collided with the fall of her gaze onto the nightstand, and - oh, okay. He’d at least had the decency to leave a note.

Gods, his handwriting was adorable. Maybe she could let this all slide.

Arya fell back against the headboard - nestled deeper under the covers and sighed - upon reading the torn loose leaf. She should have hardly been surprised, at this point, by how well he knew her.

But surprising her was sort of what Gendry Waters did best.

* * *

_“Two sevens.”_

_A collective grumble resounded from around the table._

_“I cannot believe you won again,” Rickon groaned. “What are you, a witch?”_

_Her triumphant smirk was intercepted by a singular, unintelligible protest._

_“Hey, hey, hang on, hang on,” Gendry said - hand raised._

_Arya blinked innocently._

_“Yes, my love?”_

_He narrowed his eyes, studied her face intensely, before asserting with quiet confidence -_

_“Bullshit.”_

_She shifted in her seat - imperceptibly, she hoped._

_“And what makes you so sure?” she asked - voice low and measured. His eyes were two unblinking slits, and the room was silent._

_“What do you take me for, Stark? You’re doing that thing,” he said with an accusatory wag of his index finger. “That thing with your bottom lip.”_

_“What thing?” Rickon pressed, leaning around to examine her more closely._

_“There’s no ‘thing with my bottom lip,’” she said, waving her brother off and flaring her nostrils._

_“Mhm. Now you’re blinking too much. Something in your eye?”_

_“No.”_

_“Bull. Shit.”_

_She stared him down for another beat, hoped he would relent - but he wouldn’t be the man she loved if he did that, would he?_

_She huffed and reached for the discard pile._

_“This game sucks, anyway,” Arya murmured, rolling her eyes at the surrounding cheers._

_“Gods, this guy rules,” she heard Rickon exclaim, and she tried - she really tried her best - to hide her resigned smile._

_But one furtive glance across the table, and she gave up trying. She never thought she’d see him again, and he was right_ there _\- at her parents’ dining room table, keeping up with her siblings, and it had been less than a month, but her brother was right._

_Her boyfriend fucking ruled._

* * *

Eyes open and alight, Arya scanned the room from the comfort of her pillow fortress. She fiddled with the string of Gendry’s hoodie - twirled it idly around her finger - and breathed in deep. Dawn was so gentle here this time of year - she’d forgotten that. She was so used to the constant, underlying chill of Winterfell mornings - no matter the season - that she’d let the memory of this place slip away.

She’d have to make sure they didn’t allow too much time to pass between visits again.

The dark blue curtains were backlit with an orange glow - complements to one another, and that felt so fitting. She caught a whiff of Gendry woven into the warm fabric on her next inhale, and she shivered.

The rest of the room faded into view, as she continued her survey. Their shared duffel bag on the armchair, shoes kicked off by the door, her dress from the night before a wrinkled, silver heap on the floor - not much farther over the threshold than their shoes.

Her lungs expanded, in sync with the sunshine, at the sight of his similarly abandoned clothes. His white button-down with sleeves still rolled, his most well-worn slacks - grey, to mirror her own attire. Neither a tie nor a suit jacket to be found.

She closed her eyes again and hummed - he’d been so comfortable. So _himself_. And she was so glad they’d done it this way.

* * *

_The distinct slam of their apartment door jolted Arya back to reality. She set her book face down on the arm of the couch and made her way around the corner._

_“Gendry?”_

_His tie was already loosened, his fingers working furiously at the buttons near his collar - scowl sharper than she’d seen it in a while._

_“Every time I think I’m over all of it, they waltz in and make these-“_

_“Who?” she cut him off, still walking slowly toward him. “Over what?”_

_“Rich people and their fucking bullshit!” he yelled - yanking the tie off completely and tossing it to the floor._

_Carefully, Arya lowered herself onto the bench by their entryway, crossed her arms and legs._

_“You wanna rethink that for a second?”_

_Her tone seemed to startle him, despite its composure, and he finally looked at her for the first time since he’d arrived home. He exhaled._

_“I’m sorry,” Gendry said, moving to lean against the wall across from her. “I’m not talking about your dad. I think your mum’s probably getting the same earful as we speak.”_

_Arya felt her face soften at his obvious regret. Of course, he hadn’t meant it that way, and deep down she knew that, but this - this was still fairly new to both of them. An insecurity she was still battling, and one that he hadn’t quite gotten a handle on, either._

_But they were working on it._

_“What happened, then?”_

_His chest visibly deflated._

_“All we’re trying to do is build houses that people can afford,” he said - softer still. He looked tired. “I didn’t think that was such a crazy idea. Just wasn’t prepared for all the red tape.”_

_She didn’t quite know what to say to put a balm over his frustration, but he was looking at her in silent understanding - like he knew that already. She did her best to look at him, so he’d know she wanted to help anyway._

_“I’m just...” he started. “I’m not any different. From them. From those people that need those houses. That’s where I came from.” He ran a hand through his hair, laughed emptily, as he looked himself up and down. “And, what? I get taken seriously, just because I’m dressed like this?”_

_She stood to close the short distance between them, gripped the starchy fabric at his waist when she reached him._

_“You get taken seriously, because you’re good at what you do.”_

_His arms rose to keep her there, hands clasped together at the small of her back, and she rested her cheek against his middle._

_“I don’t think I’ll ever be used to it,” he said, tightening his hold on her slightly. “I’m so…” he trailed off, lifting a hand to place two fingers under her chin, guiding her face upward._

_“I’m grateful,” he assured her - in a voice that made her heart swell. “I am. But it’s so_ bloody _unfair.”_

_Arya leaned forward again, pressed a soft kiss to the first bit of fabric she could reach._

_“I think that makes you the perfect person for the job,” she told him._

_His hand moved again - this time to cradle the back of her head - and he bent forward to brush his nose against her crown._

_“This mine?” he asked knowingly - his lower hand rubbing her back over the dark red thermal she was currently swimming in._

_“Duh,” she said into his chest with a smile._

_“You’re so comfy,” he breathed into her hair. “I need to get on your level.”_

_Her hands left their stations at his sides, ran up the length of his torso, as she rose to kiss his cheek._

_“Go get changed. I ordered Pentoshi.”_

_The grin he shot her, as he swooped down to quickly capture her lips - it still knocked her out, nearly a year later._

_“You’re a dream, Arya,” he called over his shoulder - shirt almost completely unbuttoned, already halfway to their room._

* * *

Yeah. Nope.

She took a second to really think about it, and no. She had not one single regret. She wasn’t sure if there was anything in the world that could make her find one, either - not when there’d be a _‘real ceremony’_ in two short months. Everyone else could have that one.

This was just for them.

(It wasn’t like they’d _planned_ for this to happen, anyway. It had been an innocent summer vacation - just Arya and Gendry, back on the road, no closer to agreeing on a car game, but so much closer in the ways that mattered. A week-long anniversary trip to a familiar cluster of log cabins, to a winding forest path where they’d made the plan of their lives - that was all.

Until a call to check on an old friend at the Crossroads, the spontaneous idea to jaunt up and visit, the moment they learned that _oh, you’ll be just in time, I officiated a wedding this afternoon, got pies coming out of my ears_.

Until a shared, mischievous glint in their eyes.

Until a pitstop at a tiny outlet on their way out of town - where a matronly shopkeeper helped Arya peruse the narrow aisles for a dress. She couldn’t tell if the woman recognized her or not, but she asked Arya what the occasion was, and this time the answer was clear.

Until a heated kiss against the car and two warm palms cupping her face, asking if she was absolutely sure.

And until a compulsory - but unapologetic - text to Jon, swearing him to secrecy.)

Arya reached back toward the nightstand for her phone, a disbelieving smile dancing across her features. They’d really gone and done this. It was hitting her - really hitting her, in the best way - and she wondered how long it would take before it stopped.

She hoped long.

Jon had, predictably, called when they were already back on the road - somewhere deep in the heart of the Riverlands. She had prepared to answer to shock - to reluctant agreement, at the very least - but instead, she had answered to deep, rumbling laughter.

To the admission that he ‘wouldn’t have expected anything less.’

Every happy memory Arya had of her life, all twenty-nine years of it, somehow involved either Jon or Gendry - her two favorite people in the world. And she wanted to do everything she could to make this one count.

* * *

_“I’m so tired of this bullshit.”_

_“I know you are,” Gendry soothed through her tears. “I’m right here.” He pulled back slightly, tilted her head to meet her eyes. “_ You’re _right here. You’re here, and you’re doing so well.”_

_She let the feeling of his hands - just below her jaw - ground her, as she took a slow breath._

_“I’m okay,” she whispered to herself._

_“You’re okay,” he repeated. “Feels like a low energy kinda day, yeah?”_

_A quick inventory of her mental reserves, and she nodded._

_“Would it be helpful if I left you be for a little while?”_

_She’d seen the way his jaw could clench, his fists could tighten, his chest could swell with anger, and he’d never put her in the wake of it before, but still - moments like these made her forget everything except the lilt in his voice. It couldn’t be healthy - the way her heart raced at the sight of him._

_“Um,” she said on an exhale, “I think, maybe. For a little while.”_

_He kissed her forehead - agreed without question._

_“Can you manage a shower while I run some errands, then?” he asked, taking a small step back. “Don’t worry about doing anything else. Just a shower.” He scratched his head, ruffling his own hair - in that instinctual, sinful way he did - while he looked for his coat. “We’ll figure out what’s next when I get back.”_

_She nodded again._

_“I think…I think I’ll give Jon a call, too.”_

_Gendry beamed at her, zipped himself up._

_“Yeah, do that, too.” His smile remained - effortless, undemanding - as he returned to her personal space._

_“I’m so proud of you,” he said - running a finger down the slender bridge of her nose, before kissing the tip._

_“One step at a time,” she reminded herself._

_Arya sat on the edge of the bed and watched him gather the rest of his things - focused more on her breathing and the slight tremor of her hands than on him, in truth. But a moment of clarity came when she saw him near the door._

_“Hey.”_

_He looked primed for anything - for giving her more space, for giving her no space at all - when he tilted his head._

_“Just for a little while, okay?”_

_She’d told him once, almost two years ago, that she liked always having him close, and she still did. It had taken her a while to reconcile her need for space with her need for Gendry, but he taught her every day - with his care and his patience and his commitment - what she really meant by ‘always close.’_

_She really meant ‘never far.’_

_He closed his eyes - smiled and nodded once._

_“I’ll be back soon.”_

* * *

Arya scrolled through her message thread with Jon and audibly laughed. She’d almost forgotten about the updates she’d insisted on sending him - once everything was said and promised and done.

She pressed play on the first video and immediately had to turn the volume down - the sound of the roaring wind and her loud attempts to drown it out, all too much for her still-waking head.

She still watched it fondly on silent, though, because driving with the windows down at sunset - four years later, and it was still their thing.

The next few were photos. A mirror shot of her dress, complete with a cheesy peace sign and two (visible) tattoos. A too-close shot of Gendry’s face - post-vows, mid-disgruntled reach for the camera. Her left hand - chipped manicure, wrist miraculously free of hair ties, two bands on her ring finger.

The thumbnail on the last video was blurry, and she honestly couldn’t remember taking any footage beyond the car ride from the clearing to the inn, but when she pressed play - her breath caught in her throat.

It was short - just Arya monologuing to the front-facing camera, telling her brother she was happy, saying the word ‘married’ like nothing had ever tasted sweeter on her tongue. And she’d always rolled her eyes at Bran and Rickon when they said - in their girliest, most obnoxious voices - ‘get you a man that looks at you like my sister’s boyfriend looks at her.’

But judging by the evidence in the palm of her hand, they made a fairly good point.

* * *

_Arya emerged from the water, just as the wrought iron gate creaked open._

_“You’re back!” she shouted, making a beeline toward Gendry - who had already dutifully dropped his bag._

_“I called you from the car. You knew - oof,” he grunted, as she catapulted into his arms - wrapped her legs around his torso._

_“You’re overdressed,” she grumbled._

_He snorted. “That’s a first.”_

_“It’s a pool party,” she said, resting a damp cheek against his shoulder, as he walked them back toward the throng._

_“I do see that, yes,” he said through a laugh. “You’re soaking wet.”_

_“That’s a first,” she murmured - nibbling at his neck._

_“Oh, my gods, you piece of-“ he started, but he was cut off by her high-pitched shriek - a sound she never thought she’d make - as he tossed her back into the deep end._

_“What’s going on out here?” Arya heard her father ask - amidst the commotion of Gendry’s subsequent splash into the pool after her._

_“Just the usual,” she heard Bran respond, likely not even lifting an eye from his book. “Gendry’s been here for ten seconds, and they’re already back on their bullshit.”_

_She heard a lot after that - Robb yelling for Bran to watch his language, Ben parroting the forbidden word with a devilish giggle, her mother corralling the dogs away from the edge of the pool._

_But when she wiped the chlorine from her eyes and the strands of hair from her face, it all sort of petered out at the image of Gendry wading toward her - hair as black as night, eyes as bright as day._

_And - not for the first time - she thought of the steel band she had hidden in her sock drawer._

* * *

An urgency in her stomach and a slight pounding in her head made her - _very_ unwillingly - leave her downy oasis.

She floated to the en suite with no real hurry - instinctively shuffling their respective piles of clothes into one, slightly neater pile. She ran a hand through her hair for the first time since she’d woke, and she could have snorted at how tangled it felt.

A dress-length hoodie, no pants, two mismatched socks, and a rat’s nest on her head - Gendry was a lucky man.

She went straight for the small clutch on the sink counter when she entered the bathroom, dug for the aspirin that she could have _sworn_ she’d packed. She finally found it, and _yes_ , there were two left, so she reached for the tap, but she briefly glanced up at herself in the mirror, and -

Holy shit. _Married._

Her eyes widened, as she took herself in. The mascara she’d swiped on the night before, now two identical half-moons under her eyes. The confirmed monstrosity that was her freshly cropped hair. And - just below her ear, only apparent once she’d swept her locks to the side - the faintest, purpling mark.

A lot of words could describe the way she felt - on this day, and on any day, when it came to her relationship with Gendry. Enthralled, fortified, seen. Understood, revered, utterly insane. Only one word could describe the way she looked right then, though - as she ghosted her fingertips over her neck.

Loved. She looked loved.

* * *

_“Close now?”_

_Oh, she could kill him._

_“No,” she managed through gritted teeth._

_“Mm.” A feather-light kiss to her inner thigh. “Bullshit.”_

_Arya whined - curled and uncurled her fists._

_“You get really quiet.” A glide of lips, still nowhere near where she needed them most. “Your leg starts to shake.”_

_“Fuck,” she grunted. “I’m not-“_

_“I told you not to come until I say you can,” he interrupted her. “Do you remember that?”_

_She writhed under his barely-there touch._

_“Mhm.”_

_He was standing - why on earth was he_ standing _? He was right, it_ was _bullshit, but she’d been so good, done exactly what she’d been told for once, so shouldn’t she -_

_The tie around her left wrist - her dominant hand - came loose, and only then did she realize her eyes had closed in frustration. She opened them to see her fiancé sinking back down to his knees - her hand engulfed in his, being guided to rest in his hair._

_“Hold here,” he said against her center. “And now you’re allowed.”_

* * *

On any other day, she might have leaned forward on her elbows - poked and prodded at her dry skin, fixated on the way her hairline receded on the left from years of tight ballet buns. Maybe even stared long enough to convince herself that it wasn’t worth putting in the effort at all.

That day she could only thank herself - for powering through the hard mornings, and building up the muscle, and carrying herself over the rubble, right to where she stood. She was here, he’d often remind her - she was here, and she was the reason.

She’d had quite a bit of fight in her the day they’d met, honestly. He had, too. She hadn’t been able to _believe_ his nerve - nor he, her bite - and they’d cursed each other’s unknown names into the night when they’d parted.

But smart fighters knew how to pick their battles - a lesson she’d learned the hard way growing up. So, to say everything else afterward had also been a fight, was to say that everything else afterward had been worth the risk.

A fight to keep their heads on straight, when they were still afraid of letting each other in - then, to keep from bursting, after they finally did.

A fight to stand their respective grounds, despite so much still unsaid. A fight to get back what they’d lost - but did they really _lose_ anything? - and start over.

And one every day since, to work on their own stuff - on believing he was good enough, on believing she deserved this.

Never a fight beyond that, though - every battle paled in comparison to the ease of their love. The certainty.

Arya ran a brush through her hair, swiped her thumbs below her eyes, splashed some cold water on her face - if this really were some sort of cruel dream, surely that would rouse her.

The tile remained cool beneath her feet, though. And she was so sure she’d agreed with Gendry yesterday, but she couldn’t help silently amending -

 _This_ felt like the best day of her life.

* * *

_“I’m not gonna be good at this,” he warned. Arya wondered how he could possibly think that._

_“Me, neither,” she comforted him anyway with a squeeze of his hands._

_His shaky exhale was timed perfectly with the incoming breeze, and his gaze fell to the skirt of her dress - watched it billow slightly._

_“You take my breath away,” he said. “And...you’re my hero.” His eyes were cloudy when they met hers again. “I love you so much more than I did five seconds ago.” One blink, and he was forced to unlink one of their joined hands to access his shirt sleeve._

_“Damn it,” he laughed - wiping his cheek, rolling his eyes at her playful smirk. “This is the best day of my life.”_

_Something like fire bloomed in her chest - the kind he’d shown her how to build._

_“I like standing next to you,” she said, when it was her turn. “It makes me feel strong. You...remind me that I can do almost anything.”_

_Another gust kicked up the leaves at their feet, swirled the scent of pine in the space between them. Arya smiled._

_“And there’s no one else’s bullshit I’d rather tolerate for the rest of my life.”_

_They made a few more teary promises, exchanged a pair of golden bands, barely let Hot Pie finish prattling about the powers vested in him, before they completely melted into each other. And where in two months there’d be raucous cheers, there was now only grass tickling their ankles, birds faintly chirping above them._

_Every witness they’d had on that faraway dewy morning - when they’d taken the first of many chances on each other._

_There was no slow procession down the aisle, hand-in-hand. That time would come, and they’d revel - neither objecting to a bit of attention, for once. Instead, bathed in a shimmering sunset, they did what she imagined they’d do for the rest of their days._

_They raced each other to the car._

* * *

She was still in the bathroom - zipping up the toiletry pouch - when she heard the main door squeak on its hinges, soft footsteps on the other side of the wall.

“What is this bullshit?” came his affronted question.

Arya laughed quietly - his note had been straightforward. _‘Gone downstairs for breakfast. Don’t you dare move.’_

“You left first,” she teased, rounding the corner to see Gendry - two stacked plastic containers and a giant thermos of what she sincerely hoped was coffee, balanced in his stupidly large arms.

“I had a good reason,” he said - no real malice in his tone, eyes sparkling, as she moved toward him. She relieved him of the loot, set everything carefully aside on the nightstand.

She wanted to eat, sure - but she wanted his hands free more.

“It was gonna be perfect,” he mumbled with a sarcastic pout, drawing her into his embrace. “I was gonna come upstairs, see my beautiful wife asleep in bed. Wake her up with the smell of pie crust.”

She nuzzled into his chest, sighed when he spun her toward the mattress and kissed down her neck.

“Well, _I_ was gonna roll over, see my beautiful husband asleep beside me,” she said. He nibbled near her pulse, and she gasped. “Wake him up with a flick on the nose.”

Gendry laughed into her skin. It warmed her down to her toes.

“Everyone was right,” he said, slipping his hands under the hem of her hoodie. “This marriage thing is hard work.”

She trailed her fingers down his torso, reached for the hem herself, discarded the garment entirely. His eyes darkened - and he crawled to cover her, as she fell to her back.

“You’re telling me,” she said. “What were we thinking?”

He groaned something into her lips - something about showing her _exactly_ what he’d been thinking - and her hands found their home in his hair. And she’d still fight - for herself, and for him, and for the life they’d built.

But, right then, surrender had never felt so good.

**Author's Note:**

> one day, yana messaged me and said 'i'm gonna need a flash-forward of gendrya eloping in the ttlr universe, thank you,' and then it was only uphill from there.
> 
> (i know that i've promised a handful of you gendry pov ficlets, and those are still in the works! this one just felt like arya's story to tell. if you have read ttlr, and you have a gendry pov request, please do let me know! i missed this little world, and diving back into it for a bit was fun. i hope you enjoyed.)
> 
> tumblr: [lightninginabottle0613](https://lightninginabottle0613.tumblr.com/) 😇


End file.
